Trouble Me

by Beck Anderson

  “This is Dr. Ogata.”

  “Joe, this is Andrew Pettigrew.”

  “Well, hi, are you lonely already? I’ll probably start missing Tessa tonight when the bed is cold.” He chuckles.

  “Where are they?” I sound crazy. Maybe I am.

  “Is everything okay? Tessa left super early this morning. They were meeting at the house on Silver Point.”

  “I don’t know, Joe. Who was going?”

  “Tessa mentioned that Kelly’s friend Mari needed a change of scenery. Kelly texted Tessa, told her to meet her.”

  Maybe Mari doesn’t know Tessa is coming too. This could be good.

  “Andrew? Is everything okay?”

  “I’m working on it. This friend, I don’t know how stable she is. I just have a bad feeling about it.”

  “It is a little late for Kelly to be road tripping. You all have a baby coming, you know.”

  “I know, Joe. Thanks for the help.” I end the call.

  My mind’s spinning. I call Tucker again.

  “Yes?” He answers with an urgency.

  “They’re going to the coast. Tessa’s meeting them there today.”

  “Andrew, I have to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “Sergeant Ridley called. The super of your building in NYC called her an hour ago. Ridley contacted him when Devon looked good for it, left her card with him. He wanted to follow up with her. He said the mail was piling up for one of the units. Turns out it was the one where Mari had been staying, supposedly as a housesitter. It doesn’t look good. Her family’s been looking for her. She wasn’t supposed to leave New York—she had a psychiatrist, was on meds. Of course none of that would pop in a background check. That’s all confidential information. She’s gone off the grid. She hasn’t contacted her family since she left New York.”

  I want to smash the phone into a million pieces on the tile in the foyer. “Fuck, Tucker. Fuck my life if anything happens to Kelly and the baby.”

  “Nothing will, Andrew. You and I will make certain it doesn’t.”

  Tucker’s in the driveway in ten minutes. I’ve called Kelly’s folks, and Tucker’s sent Janus and an Apotheosis security detail to wait with them and keep them informed. He’s already alerted CHP, and now we’ll meet a plane at LAX and fly to Portland, where a car is waiting to take us to the coast. We’d take a helicopter, but the weather’s already getting dicey, and just making it into Portland will take a miracle. Luckily Tucker has friends, and one of them happens to be a former Navy pilot. He’ll take us to Portland. We’ll take it from there.

  Tucker hangs up the phone. “Her credit card was used for gas at six a.m. at the One Stop in Red Bluff.”

  “Why didn’t she call me?”

  “I’m sure because she couldn’t. When did she tell you about Mari?”

  “Two nights ago. She knew I’d be working two, maybe three days straight.”

  “We can get officers to the house and intercept them.”

  “I hope so.”

  Tucker’s phone buzzes, and he answers. “Caldwell.” He listens intently, and I watch as his frown deepens.

  He pulls over to the side of the road. My heart’s in my throat. If he’s about to tell me the worst news of my life, I don’t know what I’ll do. I can’t live without her.

  He doesn’t look at me. “Fine. I’m checking it now. That plane better be ready to taxi when we get there. Call Sloan. This is an interstate thing now. FBI needs to get on it. They swing the biggest stick; they need to be incident command on this one.”

  He ends the call and swipes his cell. I can’t tell what he’s doing. Then he hands the phone to me. “The super went into the Chelsea condo and called NYPD.” He hands me the phone and pulls the car back onto the freeway, gunning it to get into traffic.

  There are pictures. I swallow bile as it rises in my throat.

  The living room walls in the condo are plastered in pictures. Pictures printed off, cut out of magazines, poster-sized pictures.

  They are all of me.

  “Tucker.”

  “I know, I know. Don’t say anything. Just keep breathing.”

  I swallow hard. I want to scream, to beg God and any other higher power that might be listening for this not to be happening, not to my Kelly, not to my baby. Please God, please God, please God.

  I’m about to start my bargaining, my pleading, my promises to never work again, to move the family to Canada, to give my life for theirs, when Tucker stops me cold.

  “Andrew, I know how you feel right now, but I need you to help me. As much as you want to panic right now, you need to tell me everything and anything that Kelly might ever have told you about this Mari.”

  It might be better to have something to do. To focus on. I shake my head, try to physically clear the ugly panic from my brain. Focus. I can do this. I can play this part, if only for a little while. Let me disappear into this job. Maybe if I do my part, it’ll save Kelly.

  The lump in my throat won’t go anywhere, and my pulse still pounds at my neck, in my ears, but my brain clears a bit.

  “She met her running. She went out one morning, and Mari left the building at about the same time. God, I actually suggested they be friends.”

  Tucker nods. “That was her way in. She probably IDed her when you moved in.”

  “How’d she get in the building? How’d she pull that?”

  We drive around the main terminals now, headed to the terminal for private jets. Tucker’s all business. “Don’t know how she figured out the leasing agent you went through, but then she just watched and waited for a lease to pop close to when you were to start filming. She found an empty condo in the building and wheedled her way in, offering them a free housesitter—told them she was in fashion design school. She even had references.”

  “She’s just one of my psycho fans? All of this is about me?”

  “I don’t know, Andrew. FBI is on it. They’re looking for her family right now. She’s only twenty-two.”

  The guard at the gate to the private hangars must be expecting us. He swings the gate wide as we approach, and we race through. On the open tarmac, Tucker floors it, and we race across the pavement to a sleek white jet waiting, door open, stairs down.

  Two men who look like plainclothes cops meet us as we screech to a halt. One with a robust red beard and glasses jogs next to us, boards with us as we get on the jet.

  “The storm’s screwing it all up, Tucker. We tracked them into Portland, got Oregon State Police on the trail of Kelly’s car.”

  “And what?” Tucker’s been handed a file folder. I don’t know if I want to see what’s in it.

  “And then the storm started in on the coast. At about milepost seventeen, the visibility’s down to half a mile, the roads are starting to accumulate an ice and snow mix, and I don’t know how many officers we can put on it. The road between Seaside and Cannon Beach is close to washed out right now. Local law enforcement consists of one county deputy in Cannon Beach, and the cell tower is down, so we haven’t made contact with him yet.”

  “What are we flying into, then?” Tucker looks at him. The flight attendant has pulled up the stairs and closed the door, and we are taxiing.

  “Frankly?” The man looks straight at Tucker.

  “Yes.”

  “A cluster. Honestly, if it were Portland, we’d be fine. They’re stranded on the coast. You’ll be lucky if you make it through.”

  “We have to. I can’t leave her there alone.” I say this, and I sound frenzied. “I won’t leave her there. Something’s going to happen, and I need to get to them.”

  Tucker raises a hand. “Get a truck. Talk to fire and get one of their wildland vehicles.” He looks at me. “We’ll do this.” He pulls out a yellow pad. “Andrew, remember. I need every detail you can remember. We need as much intel as we can get.”

  “I need a drink.” I look at him, level my eyes on his.

  “No, you don’t. Be here. Be present. Live in
this moment, as awful and terrible as it is.”

  “I know.” I feel tears threaten and shake my head, refuse the emotion. No more fear, whatever the outcome might be. Just strength and determination. Kelly deserves at least that.

  I take his phone from him one more time, pull up the pictures. Not a single one of them is with Kelly. There are some where it’s clearly me walking down the street with Kelly, or playing in Central Park with the boys and Kelly, but Kelly’s not in the pictures. They’ve all been cut carefully. Some are taken with a camera. Some come from magazines. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Comments from conversations with Kelly begin to drift back into my brain as the adrenaline clears. Her worries about pushing me away. Her remark about the insta-family, me wanting my old life back. “I think Mari was gaslighting Kelly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You ever heard of that movie? Gaslight?”

  “No.” He’s scribbling on the pad. “Short-cut it for me.”

  “Charles Boyer convinces his wife, Ingrid Bergman, that she’s going crazy. Those times when Kelly’s really fallen apart, she’s mentioned talking about us to Mari. Mari kept telling her not to be so clingy, not to drive me away. Then all the other stuff—the note at the shower.”

  “Mari wrote it.” Tucker seems to say this before he realizes who he’s saying it to. “She’ll push Kelly into labor if she can, force delivery, steal the baby. She’s trying to take over Kelly’s spot in your life. Or maybe erase everything you care about—” He leaves off. “That was totally out of line.”

  “No. Kelly’s said a couple things. Like that she’s driving me away with the way she’s acting.”

  “Mari’s been calling her attention to it. Mari’s ready to slide in and take over. She’s been convincing Kelly and herself. Auditioning for the job. Lots of these kinds of people swing between wanting in on your life and wanting to end it.”

  The plane lurches. The guy in glasses nods at me. “Sorry, Mr. Pettigrew. We’re going to hit some serious turbulence.”

  “Who are you?” I don’t know when we picked this guy up.

  “Paul Prescott. FBI. I’m communications manager on the incident, until someone with bigger credentials takes over.”

  Tucker shakes his head at him. “No one else’ll make it in this storm. We’re the last flight out of LAX going north. And the Portland airport is on the verge of shutting down altogether. You’re it.”

  The plane shakes again, lurches up and then to one side.

  Prescott looks sweaty. “Your friend the Navy pilot?” he asks Tucker.

  Tucker doesn’t look up from his phone. “He can land in weather like this on an aircraft carrier. He flew into hurricanes, on purpose. Let him do his job.”

  “Sorry.” Prescott ducks his head in apology.

  Tucker’s phone buzzes again. “This just gets more and more insane.”

  “What?” I ask.

  He hands the phone to me again. “We pulled the data from her phone. Look at the picture.”

  It’s the back of someone. In a suit. In an Escada suit, as a matter of fact. “She’s the one who shoved me into traffic.”

  “That crazy bitch.” Prescott shakes his head. “Sorry again.”

  “Insane.” Tucker’s brow clouds. “Andrew, I should’ve seen this coming. This is sloppy. I got too comfy, too close to you and the kids, to Kelly. If I’d been at a distance, I would’ve seen this coming.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have. She’s smart.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because she never pushed too hard. Kelly wanted a friend in New York, but Mari wasn’t too overbearing. She gave her some space. But Jesus, she was always around—when stuff was about to happen or just happened.”

  “Like?”

  “Like the attempted break-in. It happened the week after Mari came out to LA. Tucker, I flew her out for the baby shower. Jesus. I’m the reason Mari came to LA. I led her right to us.”

  “I wish I was one hundred percent clear on her motives.” Tucker shakes his head. “If she wants you, and that’s it, there’s a big problem. But maybe she likes Kelly. That could work to our advantage.”

  “Nothing works to our advantage if Kelly’s stuck at the beach house by herself with Mari, and I can’t do anything to help her.”

  The plane hops to the side again. Prescott the redheaded guy grips the armrests on his seat and appears to be praying.

  Tucker fastens his seatbelt. “We’ll get there. Right now we’re about to put the plane down, hard. Buckle up.”

  36: Every Breath You Take

  WHEN I OPEN THE DOOR TO THE HOUSE, the smell of cedar and salt hits me. I walk in, set the house keys on the entryway table, and start turning on lights. Since Andrew bought the house, we’ve been able to come up a few times, settling in, furnishing it, getting comfortable.

  But this visit is different. The day is darkening early, the storm clouds gathering and blocking the sun. I try to breathe, sound calm when I speak. “I don’t know how long we’ll have power.” It’s four thirty p.m. Back at the house in LA, someone—Andrew or my parents, with the boys—someone has to have come home by now. I’ve been driving since ten thirty last night, and I ache all over, from terror and fatigue.

  Mari comes in behind me. She’s been vigilant. I don’t know that she’s slept in the eighteen hours we drove. I haven’t had any chance to try to get away, or get my phone from her. As soon as we stopped the car in the driveway here, she had the car keys in her hand. Then she tucked them into the pocket, the one with the gun.

  I try to keep my voice calm. “We better get the stuff out of the car. We might have to seriously batten down the hatches. It could get ugly out there.” I’ve done all I can to keep every word I say as casual as I can. Mari hasn’t made threats against me, nothing outward. She’s an unstable person with a gun, but maybe I still count as her ally. Maybe I’m not a person she wants to hurt. I want to keep it that way, keep the baby safe.

  The wind howls as I step outside. It’s getting serious out here. The salt wind and mist bites at my face. I wrestle to get the car door open in the wind, and when it finally gives, the force of it knocks me over. I land hard on my hip, and it feels like the baby just got knocked too.

  “Kelly? Are you all right?” Mari helps me up. Her eyes seem clearer. Maybe her break, her episode is lifting. Maybe she’ll be lucid, and we can call Andrew and go home.

  “I’ll be okay.” I rub my hip. That’s going to hurt like crazy tomorrow. “We better get inside.”

  “Are we safe?” Mari’s voice is small, like a little girl’s.

  “Up here on the cliff? No doubt. It just might be a while before we’re going anywhere.” As if on cue, a contraction tightens over my belly. It’s a big one. I take in a breath, try to rub it out.

  “What?” Mari looks at me suspiciously. “What was that?”

  “Contraction. They happen on and off a lot in the last month.”

  Inside, I try the TV. It’s all gray fuzz. “Satellite’s already out.”

  Mari smiles for a minute. “Nothing to worry about. The storm knocked out cell service too. I can’t get a signal on my phone or yours.” My heart sinks. She doesn’t look upset; she looks happy. Maybe this isn’t a breakdown; maybe this is premeditated.

  She comes over and hugs me. It’s so tight, I feel a little breathless. “We’re here now, and inside, safe. I know I’ll feel better now that I’m here.”

  She stares at me, her eyes so intense I feel my skin prickle.

  Even if she falls asleep now, there’s no one to call.

  I start to plot how to escape.

  I make dinner, trying to sort through a thousand different thoughts as I stir a pot of soup on the stove. Mari seems calmer. At times, though, she looks straight through me, as though I’m a ghost, and if I call her name, only seems to acknowledge my presence faintly. Just when I begin to consider walking past her, straight out the door and down the lane, she’ll have a moment o
f clarity and circle the room, pacing nervously. Now she stands at the edge of the great room and watches me, hands still in her pockets.

  I look again at her wrists, the bandages. Does she want to kill herself? Kill me? What is the gun for? Why are we here?

  I sift through all of our interactions, try to find the thread. Every time, I feel blind panic rising from the base of my spine. None of this feels good.

  Whatever the case, she’s slipped into a dark place.

  “Mari, please.”

  “What, Kelly?”

  “You must be so tired. I’m tired. We need to rest.”

  She points to the master bedroom down the hall. “You should go sleep.”

  I turn everything over in my head. I’m exhausted. I’ve been up, drove through the night without stopping, and now, I can feel the exhaustion sit on my spine, press on the baby. “What will you do? You need to rest too, Mari. It could help. Help you feel more yourself.”

  She nods. Her eyes soften. “I’ll sleep. Then we can decide what to do in the morning.”

  Maybe she’ll listen to reason. Maybe after sleeping she’ll feel better, be back to herself.

  Maybe when she sleeps, I can get the gun away from her.

  She watches me go into the bedroom, stands outside the door for a while as I lie there, fear pulsing through me. But the heavy, heavy fatigue climbs up my arms and legs and weighs on me until I am out.

  I wake up with a start sometime later. This could be my chance. Maybe Mari’s fallen asleep too. Maybe the weather has cleared, and the phone will have a signal. Maybe Tessa will arrive. I texted her the night I invited Mari, and then, the following morning, had every intention of calling and canceling. But then Mari arrived.

  Tessa might show up here. I could get away from Mari, slip out with Tessa.

  I pray for Tessa to get here. She might not make it today, with the weather, but she’s Tessa. She might show up when I need her most.

  The hall has a tiny sliver of light from the guest bedroom. Mari’s still awake. I can’t hear anything as I near her door, but I knock softly.

  “Mari? You awake?”

  The light on the bedside table is on. I hear water running in the bathroom. She’s taking a shower.